


Hope

by SpaceKase



Series: Seeking Faith and Speaking Words [2]
Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other, Religion, Religious Conflict, Self-Harm, it'll get there; I promise!, loads of crying and hugging, teenagers in love, though the 'lovers' part STILL doesn't show up here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceKase/pseuds/SpaceKase
Summary: Sequel to 'Believe.'Sal knows there's a connection between his new friendship with Travis Phelps and the love notes he keeps finding in his locker.The trick is keeping it a secret.





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, this wasn't going to be the sequel to Believe; the actual sequel was going to take place in the 2010s where Travis runs into Sal, who's fresh out of prison.
> 
> I'm still working on THAT one, but I decided that I wanted to write a midquel between those two, first. 
> 
> I swear, I meant for it to be quick and short. But here I am, over fifteen thousand words later.
> 
> You all know how it is. *shrugs*
> 
> As always, I've done my best to tag anything potentially triggering in this, but in case I've missed anything, please please let me know.

Sal opens his locker on Monday morning, and a piece of graph paper falls out. 

He tilts his head, curious, bending down to pick it up, carefully unfolding it. 

"Oh!" he says, eyes wide, as he reads.

_'I have no idea how to start this. There's just so much for me to say; maybe I'll start from the beginning._

_I had no idea what to think of you when I first saw you; I won't lie, I thought you were weird, at first._

_But I've gotten to know you since then, and I realized that I've never met anyone like you before in my life. I mean that in a good way._

_I can't stop thinking about you. I know it's cowardly for you to find out this way, but I promise, I'll find the courage to tell you to your face some day._

_-Your Secret Admirer'_

Sal catches a flash of purple and yellow from the corner of his right eye; when he turns to get a better look, the halls are empty. 

He thinks about the handwriting, which he  _knows_ he's seen before. Thinks about the colors purple and yellow, and where he's seen _them_ before. 

And he smiles, deciding that this secret is worth keeping. 

\---

His friends have mixed reactions to his new, tentative friendship with Travis. 

Chug and Maple don't really have many thoughts about it; Chug still tries to nervously stay away from him, and Maple politely tolerates him, quiet as always.

Todd, surprisingly, is very supportive. "From what I've seen, it appears that he's trying to change for the better," he tells him. " _All_ of us have prejudiced viewpoints at some point in our life; if he's working to change his stance on homosexuality, then I say 'Good for him.'" Then he puts a hand on Sal's shoulder and says "Although, if things go south for you two, just know that I'm always on your side." Sal appreciates it a lot and makes sure to tell him so.

Larry, of course, hates it from the get-go. "Why the Hell would you give that fucker a chance? He's done nothing but treat you like shit!" he insists. "Hell, I've known him since first grade. He hasn't changed a goddamn bit since then; why do you think he'll change now?" Sal honestly doesn't have a good answer for that; he just tells him that it's what _he_ would want, if he were in Travis's shoes. Larry rolls his eyes at that, pointing out that that would never happen, since Sal isn't a shitty person. Ultimately, Larry does agree to play nice and let Travis hang out with them, on the condition that he makes it abundantly clear what'll happen if he puts one toe out of line. 

Ash seems to mostly be in alignment with Larry, although she doesn't put it in quite the same words, nor is she as hostile about it. She's polite to Travis, if a bit clipped and passive-aggressive. She takes to sliding her finger across her throat with a bright-eyed smile whenever she's looking in Travis's direction when she thinks Sal isn't looking. Sal is fairly convinced that Ash is the one person in their friend group that he should never, ever cross. 

Even so, he appreciates Larry and Ashley's protectiveness. In general, he remembers just how grateful he is to have such an amazing group of friends. Back when he was in middle school, if someone had told him his high school years would be like this, he wouldn't have believed them.

His middle school self had been so depressed, he would have found living in an apartment building occupied by cultists and ghosts and demons more believable than the fact that he would have friends. 

Maybe that's one reason why he's tried so hard to be understanding with Travis. He hates thinking about that time of his life…he’d hurt himself instead of others and keep to himself, rather than seek out confrontation, but Travis’s situation is still one he relates to on an uncomfortable level. 

His patience with Travis seems to be paying off. Next Bologna Sandwich Day, when he decides to invite Travis to eat with them, he actually sees him smile. 

It's a nice sight.

Of course, that doesn't mean things are perfect. 

Sal comes into school early one day, hoping to see if there's anything left of Mrs. Packerton's belongings. There had been a day of mourning after the night she'd been killed in that car crash; they'd gotten a day of school off and had an assembly the day afterwards. While some people were more upset than others, the general air had been a somber one. She'd been remembered by most people as a kind elderly lady; admittedly, that's what Sal had thought, too, until they'd found those horrors in her apartment. 

He, Larry, Ashley, and Todd had been quiet that day, occasionally giving each other knowing, haunted looks. Who would believe that the beloved math teacher was actually a murderous cultist? Who would believe that she'd been serving the kids at school their fellow students?

He'd decided not to tell Travis about that. The guy's life seems hard enough, as it is; he hadn't needed to know that he'd unwittingly been made a cannibal. Though it had been hard not to say anything when Travis had commented, that lunch time, that the bologna wasn't as good as it was before Mrs. Packerton had died. Especially when the words had made Larry gag. 

Just like with everything odd that happens in Nockfell, any proof of their old teacher’s secret life had been cleaned away. Sal supposes that isn't surprising; it's been months, and Mrs. Packerton's replacement seems to have made herself fairly comfortable there. Sal feels like he should be more disappointed, but then, Mrs. Packerton is _dead._ It's not like she can hurt anyone ever again, and really, it's not like vindicating a dead person would be very satisfying. 

Resigned, he decides to hang out in the courtyard for a bit. Maybe get a head start on some of his homework; maybe doodle in the sketchbook Ash had gotten him for a present last Christmas. 

What he doesn't expect is Travis to be there, ramming his fists against the rough bark of the tree there, almost as though in a trance.

Sal quietly steps closer to him. He only says something when he's close enough to see the blood on Travis's knuckles. 

"Travis?" He speaks the word quietly, but it's enough to make Travis stop cold.

His new friend slowly turns, wide-eyed, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

Neither boy says anything for what feels like an eternity. 

Travis takes a deep breath. "Well?" he asks.

Sal blinks. "'Well,' what?" he tries.

He suspects it's the wrong answer, because the look on Travis's face is now one of fury and embarrassment. "Well, spit it out! Ask me what the fuck I'm doing! Call me weird; call me a freak!" He squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head down. His bloodied fists are clenched at his sides so tightly that it looks painful. "God knows I've called _you_ that enough times...it'd serve me right." Travis continues to glare down at his feet.

Sal shakes his head. "Why would I do that? It's not true...I don't think that." He takes a step closer to Travis. "I think I have an idea of what you're going through."

Travis shakes his head. "How, exactly? What do _you_ know about my life?"

"Maybe not a lot, but I _do_ know what it's like when you hurt so bad on the inside, you hurt yourself on the outside, too." He sighs and looks at his hands. "Here...I want to show you something..." With that, he rolls his sleeves up.

 _"What the fuck...?"_ breathes Travis. 

"I used to cut myself. I'd take shower razors apart and just..." He almost mimes the action, but decides against it. This is serious, and that would most likely be in really poor taste. "I'd do it when the bullies at school would get to me, or when I got anxious to calm myself down...I'd..." Now it's his turn to look down at the grass. "I'd do it when I was so depressed, I just wanted to die. It was the only thing that would make me feel, for a while."

"'Feel?'" repeats Travis. "Feel _what_ , exactly?" 

Sal shrugs. "Anything, really. It's the shitty thing about Depression...it's not crying a lot, though sometimes there's that. Sometimes, it's just...not feeling anything."

"Shit..." breathes Travis. 

Sal looks up at Travis, who at least doesn't look as miserable as he did before. "What...brought this on?" he asks. 

"My dad really got on my case before I left, and..." Travis takes a deep breath. "You know, actually, I...really don't wanna talk about it."

Sal nods. "Okay; that's fair. You don't have to, if you don't want." Everyone has things in their lives that they don't want to talk about; God knows Sal has a lot. 

Then Travis smiles. "Hey. Guess it's something we have in common, then?"

Sal laughs a little. "I guess so."

"We're both fucked up."

Sal laughs a lot, this time. This really isn't the slightest bit funny, but he finds that he can't help himself. "Please; I'm _way_ more fucked up than you."

Travis's smile turns into a smirk. "Yeah? How do ya figure?"

Sal points at his prosthetic. " _You_ don't have to wear _this."_

The smile on Travis's face drips a little. "Yeah; good point. You got me there."

Sal closes the distance between the two of them, now that the air around them is calmer, and gingerly picks up Travis's hands. To his amazement, Travis actually lets him. "We should probably get these taken care of," he says. Travis seems like he's been at this for a few minutes, at least; both sets of his knuckles are bloody, and Sal is pretty sure there are bruises underneath. It also looks like he's been favoring his right hand; the knuckles on that one are a bigger mess than the ones on the left.

Travis clears his throat and looks away from him. It almost looks like the dark skin on his cheeks has darkened a bit more, though that could very well be the cold morning air. "Guess I'll have to go to the nurse's, huh?" He sighs. "God, when Dad finds out about this..."

"I've got some experience with...um...dealing with the aftermath, actually," says Sal. "Come on; I'll show you in the boys' room."

With the crisis averted, the rest of the day passes by uneventfully.

\---

Another note is in Sal's locker the next day.

_'You've got to be the kindest, most empathetic person I've ever met. I don't think you realize just how much that means to the people around you, especially to me. No one's been so nice to me in a long time._

_Whatever happens, please don't ever let anything change that. It's what makes you such a great person; it's one of many, many reasons why I'm so crazy about you. I honestly don't think I deserve to have you in my life, so I've decided to try and change some things about myself. Maybe that way, I'll finally deserve you._

_Anyway, I hope this makes your day just a little better. You deserve it._

_-Your Secret Admirer'_

It does. 

\---

He comes home one day to find his father passed out on the couch. It's nothing new, but the bottle of vodka on their coffee table is disturbingly empty. 

"Shit," Sal whispers, heading towards the phone. This isn't the first time this has happened, but so many years had passed since the last time. Sal had hoped his father was doing better. 

He feels stupid for hoping that as he finishes the phone call. With an ambulance on the way, he takes care to turn his dad's head to the side. If he throws up, he at least won't choke on his own vomit and die. 

Lisa and Larry are drawn out of their apartments by the commotion; they stay at his side as he watches the ambulance get smaller and smaller, until it turns a corner and disappears. They kindly offer to let him stay with them that night, which he gratefully takes. 

Larry understands that he doesn't want to talk about it. Sometimes, Sal feels like Larry understands him better than _he_ does. Maybe it's one reason why they're best friends. Instead, they play video games to distract him from what's happened. Lisa orders him his favorite pizza and heats up some hot cocoa.

That doesn't stop the negative thoughts he has after they turn in for the night. _What if Dad doesn't come back from this? he_ wonders. _What'll happen to me? How will I pay for a funeral? Where will I live afterwards?_  

Being gently woken up by Lisa the next morning doesn't make things much better. He decides not to take the day off of school; he thinks maybe seeing their other friends and going to art class will make him feel at least a little better. 

On the bus to school, one of Sal's bullies--one who isn't like Travis, lashing out at people around him  just to let some of the pain out, but a jerk who's always gotten his way and has never had to deal with consequences for his actions--pushes him, driving the back of the seat into his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

It's not a promising start to the day, by any means. Larry threatening to punch the guy's balls doesn't make him feel much better. 

He's alone at his locker when he hears a familiar voice. "Sally Face."

Sal turns to find Travis standing there, holding his chemistry textbook. "Hey, Travis," he says. 

"Hey." Travis stands there, looking a tad bit awkward, and scratches the back of his neck. "I, uh...heard about your dad."

Sal blinks. "How?" The incident had happened just last night; how on Earth had word gotten around this fast?

"I overheard Jenny Goldstein talking about it. I think one of her parents works at the hospital." Travis's gaze tilts to the side; he seems uncomfortable making eye contact with him. Which makes sense, Sal supposes; this isn't a very comfortable topic of discussion. "She didn't mention him by name, but she _did_ say something about a guy with blue hair and eyes. I mean..." He shrugs. "Who else could he be?"

"Oh." Sal isn't sure what to say to that. 

"I, uh...just wanted to see how you were doing. Let you know that that...you know...sucks. A lot."

Travis is trying to comfort him. He's not doing very well, but he's at least trying. Sal can respect that. "Yeah, it does." 

"You, uh...you gonna be okay?"

Sal nods. "I think so, yeah. Thanks, Travis."

Travis smiles in a way that makes Sal think he's not used to doing it. The poor guy probably doesn't have a lot to smile about; it feels nice to know that Sal is the one who put it there. "Sure. Any time."

For a while, Sal is okay. Things look a little better after that. 

Until lunch. He passes a table where his usual tormenters are sitting at some point to get extra napkins. He's so focused on his task, he doesn't notice that one of them's stuck his leg out. 

He goes flying. His face is the first thing to hit the ground; the prosthetic shields it from any further harm.

But when he makes to get up, his mask doesn't come with him. The crack in the thing has been re-split; the pink and white parts of his prosthetic are hanging by the straps away from his face.

"Damn it," he hisses, instinctively covering the part of his face that is now exposed. He only gets up when his hands are desperately holding both pieces to his face; through the cruel laughter and shocked stares, he manages to run from the cafeteria.

The room closest to him has tape, he manages to remember. Thankfully there's no one in it, so no one sees when he lets the pieces of his prosthetic temporarily fall until he has two pieces of tape. He's so focused on trying to get the thing to stick back together that he doesn't hear the door open.

"Hey."

It's Travis. Honestly, it's the last person Sal expects to see right now. 

"Um...hi?" he tries. The tape job isn't perfect, but at least his prosthetic is staying on his face now.

Travis gently lets the door close behind him. "I saw what happened," he says. "You okay?"

Sal sighs. "I didn't get hurt, if that's what you're asking." He points at the pink piece of his prosthetic. "Can't say the same about this guy, though."

Travis winces. "Shit...I'm sorry."

Sal shrugs. "It's not the first time it's happened." He supposes that that doesn't really make it better, but it's the first thing he thinks of. "I've done this a lot."

"Sounds like a pain."

"It is." He passes Travis and leaves the classroom. To his mild surprise, Travis follows him.

"Where are you going?" 

"The office," says Sal. "I think...I'm gonna call Lisa to come get me." He shakes his head. "I thought I could do this today, but I just...can't."

"Yeah, okay; I getcha." Travis is still walking with him. "Lisa...that's Larry's mom, right?"

Sal nods.

"Why her? What about _your_ mom?"

"My mom's dead."

He risks looking at Travis, who's turned pale. "That's not...y-you're joking, right?"

Sal suspects that he looks blanker than usual. "Why would I joke about something like that?"

"Jesus _fuck..."_ Travis runs his hands through his usually well-kept blond hair. "That whole time I was such an asshole to you...I swear, I had no idea."

Sal shrugs. "Yeah, well. Now you do." He starts walking again. Travis walks with him. 

"Jesus...what'd you do to piss off God?"

Despite everything, Sal laughs. "Trust me, if I knew, I'd be praying to Him every night, just apologizing over and over again." He decides not to tell him that, for nights after his mom died in the hospital, he'd done just that. 

Travis stays at his side all the way to the office; he's sitting on the couch after Sal's completed his phone call and signed himself out. "You don't have to stay with me, you know. I don't want you to be late for class."

Travis shrugs. "Don't worry about it." He pats the seat next to him. Sal takes the offer and sits down, placing his backpack in his lap. "You know, a glue gun would probably work pretty well."

Sal blinks at him. "Huh?" What is Travis talking about?

He looks uncomfortable. "You know. For your, uh..." He points at his face. 

"Oh," Sal says, understanding. "Good idea; I'll try that." He looks at the bag in his lap, wrapping his arms around it. "Thanks, by the way."

"What for?"

"You know. For checking on me afterwards. For hanging around, even though you don't have to."

"Don’t worry about it. Wanted to make sure you weren't...I dunno, bleeding or anything." Travis pauses before he speaks again, quieter this time. "I'm sorry about your mom. If I'd known about her, I wouldn't have been so shitty to you." 

Sal laughs a little. "Huh, I just had to use the 'dead mom' card this whole time? Damn." 

Travis shakes his head. "I'm serious, Sal. I didn't think that you were wearing a prosthetic at first, either; I thought it was just a mask." He chuckles. "With the mask and the pigtails and the nail polish, I thought you were, like...making some kind of fashion statement." He sighs, looking down at his lap. "Not that that makes any of it better. You know my life sucks, but that doesn't mean I ever had the right to make yours suck, too."

Sal nods, blinking away the wetness he's suddenly found in his left eye. "Thanks, Travis. That....that means a lot to me."

Travis gives him a weak smile. "Any time." 

It's right then that Lisa enters the office. "There ya are," she says with a smile. Sal gives Travis one final look before following her to her car.

Sal doesn’t talk much on the car ride back to Addison Apartments; he mostly listens as Lisa talks about her day. The building still seems to have plumbing issues, no matter how many toilets and sinks she fixes. Sal listens as she talks about how there might be something wrong with the well that supplies the building with water. 

It isn't until they're in the building, just in front of the elevator, that she asks "You gonna be okay, Sal?"

That does it. The tears he's been fighting for the last few minutes finally spill; he's grateful for the prosthetic, which is hiding how his lips quiver.

"Oh, Honey," murmurs Lisa. She wraps an arm around his shoulders, guiding him into the elevator.  There's no one using the washer or dryer or getting something from the snack machine, thankfully, so no one else is there to witness Sal’s breakdown. Lisa waits until they're safely behind the closed door to her apartment before pulling him into her arms. 

Sal returns the embrace, grabbing handfuls of her jumpsuit as he sobs quietly against her. 

"I know you're having a crummy day," she's quietly telling him, "but I promise, you won't feel this way forever. It isn't always going to hurt this bad." She gives him a squeeze and rubs his back and shoulders, and for the first time in a while, he finds himself missing his mother so badly that it almost physically aches. The feeling is immediately followed by intense guilt, because Lisa _isn't_ his mom, and he's so grateful to have her in his life just as she is. 

She kindly offers to let him stay at her apartment, but he declines; right then, he kind of wants to be alone. Besides, he needs to check on Gizmo, who he's sure is going to chew him out for allowing him to starve, despite the fact that it's three hours before his dinner.

Scratch that. Sal _doesn't_ want to be alone; he doesn't really want the company of human beings, but he could _definitely_ use a fat, fluffy house cat right now. 

He sets his bag down on the couch when he gets home. Sure enough, Gizmo continuously meows loudly at him. Sal manages to smile; there's really nothing like the affection of a cat to make a shitty day better. 

He spoils Gizmo a little by giving him a cat treat to hold him over until dinner. His stomach rumbles, and he remembers that he didn't get to finish all of his lunch. The remains of it were left with his friends. 

Sal frowns. "I hope they're not too worried," he says to himself. Maybe it's an odd habit, talking to himself, but it's one that's allowed him to ground himself through the years. Besides, he doesn't think Gizmo or any ghosts overhearing him are going to judge; they've all got better things to do with their time. "Maybe Travis will tell them where I am." He doubts it; they've all been trying to get along, but he doubts that Larry or Ash or Chug will willingly spend more time with Travis than they all have to. 

It's a strange problem to have, he thinks. 'Why can't my friends get along with my _other_ friend?' isn't exactly a question he would have found himself asking just a few years ago. 

Low on energy from both the stress and the crying, he decides against food. Instead he pours himself a glass of water and heads to his bedroom. He winds up falling asleep fully clothed and on top of his covers. 

He's awakened by the sound of knocking. It's a bit darker now; the sun is a bit lower in the sky. His alarm clock reads 3:30. 

"That's right," he murmurs. "They're home from school." 

He doesn't bother straightening up his appearance; he's pretty sure that it's Larry or Todd or Chug at the door. 

It isn't. It's Travis. 

The two boys stand there staring at each other for a full minute before Travis clears his throat. Sal remembers that he slept in pigtails and his prosthetic and hurriedly tries to straighten both of them out. "H-Hey, Travis! What's up?" 

Travis coughs. He's still got his backpack with him, Sal notices; he must have gotten off the bus stop that's the closest to his house. "Oh, uh...you know. Just wanted to...hang out?" He sounds unsure of the statement. "Sorry, is this too unexpected? I could just--"

"No, no; it's fine." It _is_ unexpected, but Sal doesn't want to be rude. It's not like he's _not_ happy to see Travis, just surprised. "Come on in." 

"Don't you have to feed your cat?" asks Travis. 

"Oh, yeah," Sal says. "Thanks." Kind of surprising that Gizmo hasn't reminded him, himself. Then again, he seems a bit preoccupied; the television's been turned on at some point, muted, which is probably why Sal hadn't noticed it yet. Gizmo is laying in a cat loaf on the couch, staring at the screen with his huge yellow eyes. 

If Sal didn't know any better, he'd say that his cat had the mental faculties necessary to turn the TV on and watch it for himself. 

Then again, demons, ghost, and aliens all apparently exist, so he supposes that wouldn't surprise him so much. 

"I'll, uh...I'll go take care of that," he says. The sound of the can opener is enough to distract Gizmo from his trance; he comes running, rubbing up against Sal's legs and purring in a way that almost makes Sal think the cat is thanking him.

He scratches the creature behind his ears, then down his spine until he reaches the base of his tail. He smiles as Gizmo's butt lifts up in the air and his purring grows louder. 

Travis is sitting on the couch when he returns. To his credit, he looks a little less awkward than he did the first time he came over. Sal still feels sort of bad about falling asleep so soon, leaving him to his own devices in the strange apartment; he knows how uncomfortable that can be. Travis had told him it was all right, that he'd actually had a good time. In Sal's experience, Travis isn't the sort to hold back what he thinks.

At least, not in most cases.

"So," he says.

"So," repeats Travis.

"What do you want to do?" asks Sal. What he _really_ wants to ask is what Travis is doing there right now, why he's here. He knows he'll take that the wrong way, though, even though Sal really _is_ just curious. 

"Um...I don't know. You said you had Twine Parks tapes? Could we start that, maybe?"

"Yeah; okay." Sal hurries to his room, where he retrieves the old tapes. Anything to get away from that heavy atmosphere.

He sits at the opposite end of the couch once the episode has started. He's glad that he's learned how to work the VCR so well; his dad is good with computers, but pretty hopeless with that. 

He stops that train of thought. He doesn't want to think about his dad, or the fact that he hasn't gotten word from the hospital yet. 

"You looked surprised to see me." Perfect; _this_ is a good distraction. 

"I was, a little. I thought it might be someone who lived in the building. This is usually the time Chug, Larry, Todd and I get home." 

"Oh! You don't know!" Sal looks over at Travis, who looks like he's just remembered something. 

"What?" he asks.

"Two of your friends got detention. There was this big-ass fight in the cafeteria when I came back; I only caught the end of it, so I don't know all the details."

"Oh, boy," Sal sighs. "Larry was one of them, right?" He's really not surprised about that; of _course_ Larry would immediately beat someone up because they'd picked on him. He's thankful for his friend's loyalty, but worried about what this will look like on his permanent record. 

"Yep. That guy's got kind of a temper." Travis gives Sal a look, one that just dares him to say anything. 

He doesn't. "Guess so." A thought occurs to him. "Wait; who was the other one?"

"One of the girls you hang out with. Um, the white one with the long hair?" Travis pulls his fingers down from his own hair, miming without even seeming to realize it. It's oddly endearing, Sal thinks.

"Oh, Jeez. _Ash_ got in on it?"

Travis gives him a grin. "Honestly? I think she did even _more_ damage to the guy. She had him pinned to the ground, just bitch slapping the shit out of him."

Sal doesn't care for violence, on principle; he's witnessed more than enough of it in his young life. 

Even so, hearing this revelation makes him burst out laughing. "Oh, my God! I wish I could've seen it!"

"Yeah. If only everyone had a camera on them at all times; shit like this wouldn't go by unnoticed."

Sal giggles. "Yeah. If only." He thinks about telling Travis about the security cameras that have been installed all around the apartment, about how that _really_ feels, but decides against it. 

Travis clears his throat. "Your nerd friend, Todd, had something to go to. Chess club or something?"

Sal shakes his head. "No; I think he's doing extra research at the library today." They'd been looking more and more into the cult who lived here. Todd was easily the one who had the most resources at his fingertips and knowledge about how to use it. 

"As for your other friends...I don't know where they are. I didn't ask." Travis shrugs.

"It's okay. Thanks for telling me." Sal makes a mental note to talk to Lisa once Larry came back from detention. If she’s  going to punish him for getting in trouble yet again, she at least deserves to hear all sides of the story. He'd talk to Ash's parents, too. 

"Yeah, sure. Any time." Travis turns his attention back to the screen. 

Sal thinks of something unpleasant. "Does...your dad know you're here?" he asks. 

"What? Why would you ask that?" Travis looks frightened. 

"Easy; I'm just wondering." Sal hadn't meant to upset him.

Travis sighs. "No; he doesn't. I was on the bus, and I remembered where your stop was, and just..." He shrugged. "It was sort of an impulse decision."

Sal has a lot of things he wants to say. 'Thanks for coming over,' maybe; 'Thanks for thinking of me.' 

‘Thanks for risking getting in trouble with your abusive dad to make sure I’m okay.’

What he actually says is "Oh. Well, thanks."

Travis clears his throat and looks to the side. “Yeah, uh…d-don’t mention it,” he manages.

Sal leaves him alone. Travis doesn't seem to be used to being spoken to kindly or being thanked; besides that, he seems to be struggling with a side of himself he was raised to believe was inherently sinful. The poor guy probably still thinks he's going to Hell.

Sal supposes _he's_ a bit more of an expert on the afterlife than Travis is, but even so, the last thing he wants is to push him too fast. What they have now is still fragile. 

Travis looks down at his knees. "Dad’s doing charity work tonight." Sal finds that remarkable; a man who donates to charity and urges people to feed the poor is the same man who abuses his son, even if Travis won't say so out loud. "He usually doesn't come home until six, so if I leave soon enough, he'll never know that I was here."

Sal nods. "Okay; you can't stay long, then. I get it." Not that he was expecting much else; it's a school night. The only reason he has sleepovers at his friends' places is because they all live in the same building. It's a matter of convenience, one his own dad had told him is a privilege that'll be taken away if it interferes with his school work. 

"No; guess not." Travis folds his arms across his chest. "How long are these episodes?" 

"About an hour each," says Sal. 

"That should work out; it takes about fifteen minutes to walk back to my house."

"So, just one episode?" Sal asks. 

Travis nods. "Just one." It almost sounds like a challenge, but Sal decides not to say so. They can have a marathon proper at some other point; the last thing Sal wants is to get Travis in trouble with his dad. 

The pilot for Twine Parks is just as intriguing as it was the first time Sal saw it. He keeps sneaking looks at Travis, who looks interested. At some point, Gizmo jumps up onto the couch. Sal is amazed when the cat curls up in Travis's lap; Travis looks just as startled at first, but smiles as he runs the palm of his hand down the cat's spine. 

It's a sign, Sal thinks. There really _is_ a good person beneath all that anger. He knows this for sure; Gizmo is a pretty good judge of character.

He's a little disappointed when the episode has finished. He'd like to see more, but the truth is that he'd also like Travis to stay longer; a thought he didn't think he'd ever have, when he'd first started high school. 

"So, uh..." Sal fidgets as Travis stands up and puts his backpack on. "See you tomorrow?" he asks.

"Yeah," Travis says, scratching the back of his neck. "See you tomorrow." Sal decides to walk him down to the building's lobby; it's the least he can do. 

Travis makes to open the front door, but his hand freezes just before it touches the door knob. He turns to Sal. "Wait..." he says, removing his backpack. He digs through it for a few minutes before he hands something to Sal. "Here."

It's one of the pamphlets for Travis's church that Sal sees him with every once in a while. Sal opens it up, eyeing the information and taking in the lovely pictures. Whoever designed the brochure's layout is clearly skilled. 

"Church starts at eight o'clock on Sunday," says Travis, who's zipped up his bag and put it back on. He looks down at his feet and rubs uncomfortably at one of his forearms. He looks uncharacteristically shy. "I know things are shitty for you right now, and sometimes God can come through for you if you reach out to Him. I dunno...I think it'd be cool if you came. If you want." 

Sal nods. "I'll be there. Thank you, Travis." 

Travis manages to give him a shy smile before he leaves. 

\---

Sal's dad comes home from the hospital the next day. Sal may or may not spend a solid five minutes hugging him, something that seems to pleasantly surprise him. 

The note he finds in his locker is almost enough to bring a tear to his eye. 

_'I know you're going through a hard time right now. Words can't accurately convey just how sorry I am; people as good as you don't deserve such misery in their lives._

_I just want you to know that you're probably the strongest person I know. No matter how awful things seem to get for you, you just seem to keep going. I know that's not easy._

_Every day, I think I like you more and more. You're tough, you're sweet, and you’re really, really cute. I like you so much, sometimes I don't know what to do with myself. I'm still ashamed of these feelings, but I'm working on that; if something can make a person this happy, then maybe it's not actually wrong, right?_

_Anyway, no matter how bad things get, just remember that you've got at least one person on your side._

_-Your Secret Admirer_

_-PS: I really like that red button-up shirt you wore for Picture Day last year. Also, you look great with your hair down. Just thought I'd tell you.'_

Sal makes a mental note for what to wear to church on Sunday.

\---

 _"Sal,"_ hisses his dad, _"Sit up straight."_

Sal does as he's told, though his instincts immediately scream at him to let his spine go lax. He's never had good posture; his grandma had always scolded him for slouching.

He misses his grandma. She'd been strict, but Sal had never once doubted that she loved him and his dad. 

He fidgets a bit, uncomfortably watching Mr. Phelps give an intense sermon. He's very much the 'Fire and Brimstone' kind of preacher; every other sentence he speaks has the word 'hell' in it. 

It's honestly kind of a surreal experience, sitting in a pew, surrounded by strangers, directly in the rainbow of lights the sun shines through the stained-glass windows. When's the last time Sal had been in a church? 

Oh, right. His mom's funeral. Something he doesn't like to think about, but which his subconscious always seems fond of making him relive in his dreams. 

Travis is walking down the aisle with the collection plate. Sal is a bit amazed; this is probably the most comfortable and relaxed he's ever seen him look. Truth be told, he also doesn't look half bad in his black suit; the button-up shirt he's wearing is mint green and he's wearing a purple-and-black striped tie over it.

His face lights up when he comes to the row Sal and his father are sitting in. "You made it!" he whispers, grinning ear to ear. 

Sal smiles, though logically he knows Travis can't see that through his prosthetic. So he settles for nodding and holding up one of his thumbs in a positive gesture.

That makes Travis chuckle a little. He lets his gaze lay on Sal just a little while longer before he moves on to complete his task. 

It's the one bright spot in an otherwise uncomfortable morning. How on Earth can one hour last so long? 

He manages to catch up with Travis when the whole affair is over. Travis claps a hand on his shoulder and asks "What'd you think?"

Sal thinks carefully. "It was...intense," he said. "It was kind of cool, seeing how passionate your father got about it."

Travis's smile lessens a bit, but doesn't go away altogether. "Yeah; he really cares about this job," he says. "I saw your dad sitting next to you. I'm glad he's doing better."

Sal sighs. "God...me, too," he says. "Thanks for inviting me. I'm glad to be here." He means the words. Even though he's not really that religious (he's seen ghosts before, but still doesn't know what lies on the other side for them, and he isn't comfortable assuming anything about it) and he has mixed feelings about Mr. Phelps, he's still happy to be here with his friend.

"Travis."

The same voice from before sounds much louder now that it's coming from behind Sal. It had been intimidating while giving the sermon, but now that it's so close, Sal finds himself legitimately frightened. He gulps just before he turns around.

Mr. Phelps is a tall man, even taller than Travis. He has Travis's blond hair and his eyes are the same shade of black, but that's where the similarities end. Where Travis is skinny, this man is broad; not fat, but broad-shouldered and bulky. His skin is much paler, his temples are streaked with grey, and his eyes are much colder. An intense glare and scowl is on his face; Sal feels himself shrinking away from his stare.

"Hi, Dad." Travis seems much less intimidated than Sal does. Possibly because he lives with the man and is more used to him. "This is the friend I was telling you about. Sal Fisher?"

Mr. Phelps glares at Sal, who suddenly finds himself all too aware of every little detail about himself. It strikes him that his nails are still painted black from earlier this week, and even if his hair isn't in its usual pigtails, it's still long enough to hang around his shoulders. 

"H-hello Sir," he manages to squeak. "It's nice to meet you."

Mr. Phelps makes a noise in the back of his throat, something that sounds an awful lot like 'Hmph.' 

Why had Travis wanted Sal to come here? _Surely_ he'd known that his father wouldn't approve of him. Right?

"Travis has told me a lot about you." Mr. Phelps is speaking. Sal puts his hands behind his back, hoping to hide his painted nails. "You're a...unique one, aren't you?" 

Sal nods, maybe a bit too quickly. "Yeah. I mean, yes; I suppose that's true." 

Mr. Phelps stares at him for a long time. "Polite, too," he finally says. The man turns his glare to Travis, who doesn't shrink away from it, but straightens up a bit. "Travis, you could learn a thing or two from your friend here." 

Travis nods. "Yessir," he says in one word. 

Travis _is_ afraid of him. He's just showing it differently than Sal is right now. 

He knows it's not polite to pity people, but really, Sal can't help but feel bad for Travis. It had been unpleasant for _him_ , being around the man for just one hour; what is it like, _living_ with him? 

Mr. Phelps turns away from them to go talk to someone else. Sal watches as Travis seems to deflate with relief. His friend turns to him with a weak smile. "That's a good sign."

Sal blinks. "What is?" What part of _that_ could possibly be a good sign? Sal had just felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. 

"He doesn't hate you!" Travis actually looks happy when he says that.

"Oh." Sal hates to think about what the man would do or say if he _did_ hate him. "Okay; that's good." Sal looks over to where his dad is standing. He's the one Mr. Phelps is currently talking to. "So, hey, I'm not really planning on doing anything later today; I finished all my homework yesterday."

Travis scoffs. "Man, you are _such_ a goody-two-shoes."

Sal is tempted to point out that _he's_ the one with the church duties, but decides against it. God and religion seem to be something Travis is passionate about; he doesn't want to make him feel bad about it. "Yeah, I guess so," he says with a laugh. "I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to do something after this."

"Uhh..." The look on Travis's face falls. "No; I can't. I'd _like_ to, but I've got my own schoolwork to worry about. Plus, I've got some stuff I need to finish here." He sweeps his arm around him, indicating the rest of the church. "Maybe some other time?" 

Sal nods. "Sounds great! I'll hold you to that." Sal's dad is heading towards him now; the look on his face tells him that he's had enough, which means they're probably about to leave. "That's my dad; I should probably go."

Travis nods. "Yeah, okay." Sal turns to leave but is stopped by a warm hand on his shoulder. "Hey, thanks for coming." 

Sal smiles. "Any time, Travis," he says. 

The drive home is quiet. Sal keeps glancing at his father from the corner of his eye, unsure of what the man is thinking about. "That was some service, huh?" he says.

His dad nods. "That preacher is something else." 

"That's one way to put it," says Sal. 

Another silence fills the car before his dad speaks again. "We were there because you're friends with his son?"

Sal nods. "Basically. He invited me." 

His dad is frowning. "Isn't he the one who picks on you?"

Sal shakes his head. "It's not like that anymore, Dad; we reached an understanding." He looks down at his hands. "He doesn't really have many other friends, and...well, you've seen his dad. I'm sure you can see what his home life is like, huh?"

His father sighs. "You're a kind boy, Sal. Probably too kind for your own good."

Sal blinks. "What do you mean?"

"I just don't want you to get hurt."

Sal thinks about Mr. Phelps. There's absolutely no doubt in his mind that his intensity extends to other parts of the man's life; he knows that he's the one behind the bruises that Travis shows up to school with every few days, and he knows that the words he spoke to him earlier were probably the warmest that his friend tends to get from him on a daily basis. 

Then Sal thinks about his _own_ father. His dad is distant and has been known to drown his sorrows, but Sal has never doubted for a second that he loves him. His dad had never raised a hand against him or made him feel bad for being who he is. 

"I know, Dad," he says quietly. "Thank you." 

The silence for the rest of the car ride is more comfortable than it had been minutes ago.

\---

Monday's note is longer than the others. 

_'I honestly think I'm in love with you. Every time we talk, every time I look at you, I think I fall just a bit harder._

_I love everything about you; you know that I think you're an amazing person, but it's not just that. I love how smart you are; you're a great student, but you know so much about people, too.  I love how you look; I love your blue hair and eyes._

_At first I thought I hated how you wore pigtails and nail polish and earrings, but I've thought about it, and I think I hated it because of how much I liked it. I thought I hated that you did all those girly things, because I thought boys weren't supposed to do that._

_Then again, I've always been taught that boys aren't supposed to feel this way about other boys, but here I am, happier than I've been in a long time. Maybe the people who wrote down God's word were mistaken; even if the bible is His word, it was still written by men. 'To err is human,' after all._

_You make my life better. All I can hope is that, someday, being in your life means that I make it better, too._

_You're special. I mean that in an honest way. I don't think there's another person like you out there, and I don't think there ever will be._

_Please don't ever change._

_-Your Secret Admirer'_

Sal wants to tell him that _yes,_ his life _is_ better now that he's in it. 

He won't, though. He'll keep waiting, until he's ready.

\---

Sal knows that something is wrong when he gets the call at six in the evening on Thursday. 

"Hello?" 

"Sal, it's me. I'm, uh...calling from a payphone outside the Get in Get Out gas station." There's a pause. "In, uh...in case you were wondering why you didn't recognize the number." There's another pause, in which Sal swears he hears a sniffle. "Thanks for picking up."

"Hey, Travis." Sal frowns behind his prosthetic. His friend's voice sounds thick, as though full of unshed tears. "What's going on?" 

"Can I sleep over tonight?" Travis blurts. "I...I _know_ it's short notice, and a school night, but--"

"Yeah, of course," Sal says, in what he hopes is a soothing tone. "You think you can walk here? Do you need me to--?"

"No, I'm fine. I'll be there in five; I just wanted to give you some heads up. Ask permission." Travis sounds like he wants to say more, and Sal wants to _hear_ more, but he doesn't push it. "I'll see you in a bit."

Sal has more questions, but Travis hangs up right then. All he can do, from that point on, is sit on the couch and nervously stroke Gizmo, letting his mind jump to the worst possible conclusions. 

Sure enough, just a bit more than five minutes later, he hears a sharp, almost desperate knock on his door. He nearly throws Gizmo off his lap in his hurry to answer it.

It's worse than he thought. Travis is standing before him with two black eyes, a large bruise on his left cheek, and a cut-open bottom lip. He's wearing his backpack and a duffel bag, both of which don't seem to be holding much; Sal's eye follows the straps down to his right hand, where his index and middle finger are swelling up. 

"Dad kicked me out," is all Travis says before clamping his mouth shut. His eyes are shiny and wet, and his eyebrows are knit so tightly over them that it almost looks painful. Every muscle in his body seems to be clenched tight and taut. 

"Here," says Sal, leading him to his bedroom where he has Travis sit on his bed. "I'll be right back," he says, hurrying to the bathroom, looking for band-aids and antiseptic, then to the kitchen for an ice pack. 

All the while, it's all he can do to focus on just breathing. It's almost funny...he's seen some truly horrific things in his seventeen years, but _this_ is what's truly shaken him.

 _How can anyone_ do _this to another human being_? he wonders as he rushes back to his bedroom. _How could a parent do this to his own child?_ he thinks as he wipes the blood from Travis's lip. Thankfully it looks worse than it is; he realizes that he doesn't really need to put anything on it as he presses the cold compress to the right side of Travis's face. 

He's taken aback when Travis puts a hand on top of his and presses down further, closing his eyes as he practically leans into the touch. "Thanks," he whispers. 

Sal gulps before he manages to respond "Yeah, of course." This isn't really doing much to alleviate his anxiety; he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears. "This'll bring the swelling down; just keep holding it here, okay?" He manages to remove his hand without seriously upsetting anything. "Um...can I get you anything?" he asks. "Have you eaten?"

Travis looks down at his lap for a moment before quietly asking "What do you have?"

A few minutes later, they find themselves in the kitchen. Sal knows fried bologna sandwiches are Travis's comfort food, but he's sworn off of meat since The Bologna Incident (TM), as he and his other friends have been calling it, so he has no bologna in the fridge. Thankfully Travis also likes ramen, which Sal has plenty of. "You want anything in it?" he asks. "I've got some boiled eggs left over. Also some spinach leaves..." 

He sees Travis's blond hair bob down and up from the corner of his eye, which he takes to mean 'yes.' He goes about making the broth in a pot, dumping in the chicken-flavored packet as well as some garlic powder, onion powder, cayenne, celery salt, and cumin before pouring in water and putting the thing on the stove to heat up. 

"Heh," he hears. "Dad always said that cooking's a woman's job."

Sal turns his head toward the sound of Travis's voice. "Really? Then how were you supposed to feed yourselves?"

Travis shrugs. "Don't know. Seems fucking stupid, in retrospect; we ate a lot of takeout." Sal turns his attention back to the broth, which is nicely mixed, and cracks the noodles into four pieces before putting them in. "I'm damn good at making sandwiches, though." Travis laughs humorlessly. "Guess Dad didn't count that as 'cooking.'"

On top of being a homophobe who believes everyone who doesn't abide by God's  _(his)_ rules are going to Hell, Mr. Phelps also sounds like a sexist prick. Sal absently wonders if he's a racist, too; he's got so many _other_ prejudices, would it really be surprising? Hell, maybe he'd kick puppies and drown kittens and say it was all right, since God said so. 

Sal knows there are good Christian people; it's just that people like Mr. Phelps are the ones speaking the loudest for them, giving them a bad name. 

"Honestly, I don't think this really counts as cooking, either," admits Sal. "It's super easy."

Travis steps up to the stove and looks into the pot. He's still holding the ice pack to his face, and in the kitchen's bright light, Sal can see his injuries even more clearly. 

 _Christ, no_ wonder _Travis is so angry all the time,_ he thinks to himself. 

"I don't know," his friend says, giving what's in the pot a stir with the wooden spoon Sal had been using. The noodles are softening and breaking apart in a lovely way; Sal hears Travis's stomach growl. "I've made ramen before, too, but it's never smelled this good."

"That's because I've added some extra spices," says Sal. "It's kind of like sandwiches; it's a blank canvas that you can paint over with a bunch of different colors. You can put anything you want into it." Sal retrieves the pack of frozen spinach leaves and the Tupperware of hard-boiled eggs from the fridge. 

"Huh," says Travis. "I guess I never thought of it that way."

Sal nods. "Yep; it's a great way to experiment. Larry likes his with hot sauce; Todd likes his with roasted peppers and tomatoes. That takes a bit longer, but it's worth it, I think. Maple drains the noodles and makes a kind of stir fry out of them." He pauses before he adds "I don't think Chug has much of a palate; he'll eat _anything_ and think it's good."

Travis laughs. Sal wonders if he should feel worse, that one of his friends might have just laughed at the expense of one of his other friends, but right then he's just glad to see him smile. Ever since Sal held out that olive branch to him when he'd walked in on Travis crying in the boys' room, it seems like he’s been smiling more, in general. 

He might have found it a nice feeling recently, but right now, Sal just _knows_ that it's his fault that Travis got disowned, even if it was inadvertent.

The noodles look soft enough, so Sal pours the pot into a large bowl. He sprinkles in some of the chopped frozen greens, watching the steam practically melt them into the broth, then cuts one of the eggs in half and places them against the side of the bowl. It doesn't look as professional as dishes he's seen in actual Asian restaurants, but it looks nice enough, he thinks. Travis certainly seems to like it, if the way he digs right in is anything to go by.

As Travis eats, Sal keeps himself busy by getting something to drink. He's tempted to go for water, but considering the way the night's going, he decides to help himself to the grape soda he's been saving for the weekend. He turns to ask Travis if he wants something to drink, but Travis speaks. "Is your dad gonna be okay with this?" 

Truth be told, Sal doesn't know. He suspects that, initially, he might have some misgivings, but he's a reasonable man; Sal will just need to talk to him until he makes him understand. "Don't worry about it," is what he says. "You're safe here; that's all you need to know." 

He pretends not to notice how Travis's face crumples at that, even turning his head away, in case any tears fall. 

Travis washes his bowl when he's done, and they retreat back to Sal's bedroom. Sal clears his throat before he asks "Do you want to--?"

"That Bound for Earth game," Travis blurts. "Could we, uh...could we check that out?" 

Travis still doesn't want to talk. That's fine; Sal supposes he could use the distraction. He can't blame him. True to his word, he gives Travis the controller, giving him full control of the game.

Truth be told, Sal thinks this game is just what they need. The bright colors and jaunty music on the character naming screen put a smile on Travis's face. They both crack up as they name the boy with the red baseball cap Fuckwad and the blond girl with the red bow Rambo. Sal insists that they call the boy with glasses Todd, so Travis decides to name the boy with the black braid Debbie. 

The moment where it almost falls apart is when Travis is told to name Fuckwad's dog. Sal watches as he types in the name Benji. His heart seizes; that's the name of Travis's dog. 

Sal puts a hand on Travis's upper arm. "You can choose your favorite food now," he says gently. 

Travis gives him a shaky smile. There's not enough room for 'bologna sandwiches,' so Travis settles for 'sandwiches.' 

"'Favorite thing?'" reads Travis. He looks between Sal and the screen, seemingly distressed. 

"If you can't think of what you want to type, you can randomize it," says Sal.

Travis bites his lip as he thinks. Sal may or may not be a bit disappointed when he selects the 'randomize' option, settling on 'Rockin.'

They play for a bit longer, with Sal giving little hints of what he knows and Travis occasionally asking questions. He seems a little sad when Benji doesn't stay with him for the rest of the game. He doesn't like Fuckwad's fat blond neighbor kid, which Sal doesn't blame him for; he tells him he'll grow to dislike him more and more throughout the game, which makes Travis glare at the screen. 

Even so, Sal doesn't miss him flinching when the fat neighbor kid and his brother get beaten by their father off screen.

"Shit," says Sal. "I'm so sorry, Travis; I completely forgot about that part." He truly had. The English version of the game seems to have tried to make it so that the boys didn't get spanked, but it's obvious to him that the sound effect was one of getting hit. He's pretty sure it's obvious to Travis, too.

"It's just a game, Sal," scoffs Travis. "Don't worry about it." 

 _There's_ a bit of that fire that Sal's more familiar with. 

The next time Sal checks the clock, it reads 9:45. Time flies when you're having fun, he supposes. And when you're trying to distract your friend from his shitty life. 

It's then that he hears the front door open. He definitely doesn't miss how Travis cringes away from the sound. 

"Stay put," he tells him. "I'll go talk to him."

Travis nods and does as he's told.

Sal's father looks exhausted. Sal knows to tread carefully. "Hey, Dad."

"Hey, Bud." Sal frowns as his father heads to the fridge, then sighs in relief when he pulls out the carton of orange juice instead of one of his beers. "How was your day?"

Sal taps his fingertips together. "Actually pretty good. For me. But, um..."

His dad gives him a look; one only a parent who knows what's coming can give. "What'd you do?"

Sal takes a deep breath. "Travis got disowned by his dad."

His father's eyes widen. "Oh. That's..." He looks down at his glass of juice. "That's awful." 

"He asked if he could stay here," says Sal. "And, um...I kind of told him he could...?"

His poor, tired father looks even more poor and tired right now. "Sal--"

"Dad, please. He doesn't have anywhere else to go."

He and his dad stare at each other for a long time before his dad finally heaves a long sigh. "All right; he can stay here for now."

Sal smiles, something he hopes reaches his eyes. "Thanks, Dad. I'll--"

"Just tell him that he has to behave." 

Sal nods and heads back to his room. 

He catches Travis turning the volume up on the game. He has a suspicion that he'd turned it down so that he could listen in on the conversation. He decides not to call him out on it, instead saying "Dad says you can stay here for now, so long as you're on your best behavior."

Travis nods. "Yeah, okay. Cool." He seems to be trying to play it cool, but Sal notices the relieved slump his words seem to give his shoulders.

"We should probably go to bed soon," says Sal. "We've got school tomorrow, after all." He laughs a little. "At least it’ll be Friday, right?"

Travis nods. "Yeah; thank God for small favors." Sal watches him make the cap-wearing boy head into Onett's shop and save the game at its payphone. Sal is tempted to point out that he can do the same thing for free at his mother's house, but decides against it. 

"You can have my bed. I just washed the sheets." He hates using the building's communal washer and dryer, but right then, he finds himself grateful that they're there. Just a few hours ago, Travis probably hadn't known the next time he'd get access to such utilities. 

Sal makes a mental note to not take anything for granted ever again. Not his distant, alcoholic, but still hard-working and loving dad, not his close-knit group of friends, not the fact that he has a roof over his head and food to eat and water to drink. It can all be taken away so fast...

"Where will you sleep?" asks Travis as he turns off the system. Sal turns off his television right afterwards.

"I can crash on the couch," he says. "Or, if you don't mind, I can set up my sleeping bag on the floor right here."

"I don’t mind," Travis says, almost too quickly. 

Sal's been getting pretty good at reading Travis since they started their weird friendship. He's pretty sure that that means Travis wants him close by. "Okay; I'll get my sleeping bag, then."

He realizes how potentially fragile everything is when he realizes he'll have to take off his prosthetic. Travis has slept over a few times before; he knows his right eye is made of glass. Sal knows he'd found it weird and gross that he had to keep it in a glass of saline solution overnight, but the first time he'd seen it, Sal found it a testament to how hard he was trying to improve as a person; he'd blatantly lied and said it was cool.

Sal doesn't blame him. As a five-year-old to seven-year-old, _he'd_ thought it was gross, too. Then he'd gotten used to it. It wasn't until Larry called it cool that he'd started to feel that way, too. 

Even so, Travis hasn't seen his face uncovered. Maybe they've gotten closer, but Sal realizes that he's not quite ready to make that step yet. 

When he comes back to unroll his sleeping bag, he realizes that he probably doesn't have to worry; Travis has already curled up in his bed. He's facing the wall, which means his back is to him. Sal decides to leave him alone; the poor guy's had a big enough day. He opens the door a little, in case Gizmo wants to come in or out, turns the light off, hangs the prosthetic off the pole on his bed, places his glass eye in the glass of saline, and climbs into the sleeping bag with a spare pillow. 

Like most nights, he finds it difficult to get to sleep. Apparently there are people out there who can drift off the very minute their head hits the pillow. Sal has always envied those people; he'd been a fussy sleeper when he was a little kid, but as he'd gotten older, he'd tossed and turned more and more, and his mind would always be going a mile a minute. 

Thanks to today's unexpected turn, tonight is worse than usual. Laying on his stomach with his head turned to the left isn't doing it for him; it's comfortable for about two minutes, but eventually he gets too hot, so he turns to the right, placing his head in a cooler spot. 

He thinks about Mrs. Packerton. She'd never been anything but kind to him, and he'd seen her be the same way to other students every time he was in her class, and yet she'd had ties to a murderous cult, had been keeping her comatose husband alive against his will, and killing children to make lunch meat out of them. 

He thinks about Mr. Phelps. The man claims to spread the love of God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost, and often does work for charity, and yet he is cruel to his own son. 

Hell, for the first two years of high school, Travis, himself, had been one of his regular bullies; Sal had thought he'd hated him, but apparently...

Well. They'll cross that bridge when they get to it.

The only conclusion that Sal can come to is that people are strange, complicated, and unpredictable. He decides that he should stop trying to make sense of them. 

His train of thought is broken when he hears a familiar sound; the same one he'd accidentally walked in on in the boy's bathroom months ago. The one that, in retrospect, is the very reason he's found himself in this situation. 

Travis is crying quietly against Sal's pillow. 

It's not that Sal blames him, but right then, he wonders what to do. Travis hadn't taken kindly to being walked in on, back then; Sal doesn't blame him for _that,_ either. Most people don't like when people discover them in such moments of vulnerability. 

Still, it's because Sal reached out to him with kindness and understanding that they even find themselves here, in the first place. 

 _It's_ my _fault his dad beat him and kicked him out,_ he thinks. At some point in his life long ago, he might have felt a cold horror at such a realization, but at five years old, he'd inadvertently gotten his mom attacked by a dog and killed. Maybe he's just used to the feeling. 

More than anything, though, it's the fact that his friend is finally letting his pain out by breaking down that makes Sal whisper "Travis?"

He expects some sort of verbally violent retaliation, but all he gets is "Oh. Sorry...thought you were asleep."

"No; usually I have a hard time getting to sleep." He absently remembers that he'd drifted off immediately the first night Travis had stayed over. He tells himself that that had just been a busy school week, but there's a part of him that thinks that, maybe, he'd felt just that safe with him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His eye has adjusted to the darkness, so he sees Travis's silhouette sit up. He pulls his knees up and wraps his arms around them before burying his head in them. 

Sal doesn't think he's ever seen Travis look so vulnerable before. He remembers to hastily put on his prosthetic before climbing up on the foot of his bed. He sits there for a moment and just waits. He's pretty sure Travis is the one who needs to guide this conversation. 

"I hate him," Travis finally says. "I fucking hate him."

Sal nods. He doesn't have to ask who he's talking about. "I don't blame you." Sal has always thought that the word 'hate' is a particularly strong one; he doesn't really like to use it if he can. But in this case, he'll gladly make an exception.

 _He_ hates Mr. Phelps, too.

Travis shakes his head. "It's one of the Ten Commandments, though," he sniffles. "Exodus 20:12: Honor thy father and thy mother..." A soft sob is released against his knees. "Fuck, what does it matter? I'm pretty sure God already hates me."

Sal has to approach this with great care, he realizes. There's a few different things he could say; depending on how well he knows Travis, they all have varying degrees of helpfulness and comfort. 

He decides to start with the most obvious: gentle disagreement. "I'm pretty sure He doesn't." 

"What the fuck do you know?" The words don't have the same heat to them that they would have months ago. Sal knows from personal experience that grief can make people say and do things that they shouldn't, so he doesn't get offended. 

"I can't speak for God; honestly, I don't even know if I believe in Him. But I _do_ know that religion is supposed to be a good thing. It’s supposed to make you feel good about your place in the universe; it’s supposed to let you know that you’re not alone." Sal folds his legs under him and puts his hands on top of his knees. "I know that it's awful that people like your father use such a thing to hurt people. To make them feel lousy about themselves." He hesitates before reaching out to put a hand on Travis's forearm. His heart breaks a little; his friend flinches away from the touch, and it's just that more telling of what sort of life he's lived. "Good parents who love their children deserve to be honored, not... parents who do _this_ to you. Just because you like boys." 

He realizes that he's breached the topic he's secretly been thinking about ever since he found that discarded note on the floor of the boys' room. He's pretty sure Travis knows that he knows; this isn't the first opportunity he's given him to talk about it. 

He waits for a bit, but Travis doesn't say anything. 

"If God exists, I'm pretty sure He understands. He wouldn't want you to be miserable like this...if He did, really, why would anyone worship Him?"

This isn't exactly where Sal had meant this conversation to go, but then, he’s pretty sure that it’s something his friend needs to hear.

Travis peers over his arms, giving him a watery look. 

"I _know_ you're a good person, Travis. You didn't deserve any of this." At first, Sal thinks the words might have just come out of left field, until he remembers the words he'd read in one of the notes he'd found in his locker. 

He's completely taken off guard when he suddenly finds Travis moving quickly; his friend's arms are tight around his shoulders and his face is buried in his right shoulder. 

Sal freezes for a moment, but only out of surprise. He returns the embrace, gently placing his hands on Travis's shaking shoulder blades. 

He remembers other wise words he'd heard only last week. "I know it sucks, but I promise, it won't always hurt this bad. You won't feel this way forever." He presses his right cheek against Travis's head just a bit firmer. "I've got you," he adds.

Sal loses track of how long they stay like that, but he doesn't mind. 

\---

His other friends have gotten used to Travis's presence, as well as other things about him, but they're still taken aback by the sight of his face when he shows up at school the next day. It seems to be startling enough that no one notices the fact that he gets onto the bus just after Sal does. 

Sal is secretly touched when they all go out of their way to be nicer to him. Todd and Chug distract him with their latest interests and projects; Maple stays by his side, quietly giving him her support. Ash, who has absolutely no sense of personal space, immediately takes Travis's face in between her hands to get a better look; she doesn't ask what happened, but she _does_ suggest going to the police. Sal feels sort of stupid for not thinking of that in the first place, but he supposes it doesn't matter; Travis vehemently shoots that idea down. Sal wonders if he's had experience with the police and social services getting involved in his life before; if they did, Travis hasn't told him, and he won't pry.

Besides, it's not like the police in Nockfell can really be trusted for anything.

Even Larry is a lot less hostile to him. He takes Sal aside in between class periods to ask what happened; his only response when Sal tells him is _"Jesus_...the poor bastard..." Travis winds up short of some money for lunch, and it's Larry, of all people, who covers him. 

Sal worries about any of the teachers noticing Travis's condition and getting the authorities involved, but somehow, none of them do. Sal secretly wonders if it's because of Travis's past history of violence, outbursts, and other behavior that such faculty tend to find 'disruptive;' maybe some of the faculty doesn't notice, but maybe there are others who are turning a blind eye to it, not caring since it's happened to a 'difficult student.' 

Sal thinks he might hate the American education system. 

He lets Travis sit in the aisle seat on the bus ride back home. It's a bit strange, thinking that Addison Apartments is now Travis's home, too.

At least for the time being. His dad said that Travis could stay here 'for now,' but Sal isn't really sure what that entails. 'For now' could be a year, or a month, or a week; Hell, it could only be a few days.

Not that he thinks his dad is that cruel; he _knows_ he isn't. He's _seen_ what true cruelty is. But it's something that makes Sal worry, just the same. 

Addison Apartments is a surprisingly welcome sight. The strange, off-putting aura is something that Sal has gotten used to; it's weird, but he can now find himself happily calling the place 'home.' 

The same can't be said for Travis; Sal absently notices him shudder as he steps onto the walkway leading up to the apartment building. "You think we can turn up the heat when we get inside?" Travis asks, wrapping his arms around himself. "I've got no idea why, but I'm really cold all of a sudden."

Sal is used to the feeling. He thrives in warm weather; he'll gladly wear a long-sleeved t-shirt beneath a black sweater during the summer and not break a sweat. It's the cold he can't stand, and Travis is right; Addison Apartments is remarkably cold.

What is it about the paranormal activity there that does that? What makes ghosts so icy? 

"Yeah, we can do that. I'll make us something hot to drink, too. You like cocoa?" 

Travis shakes his head. "No; I don't really like sweet things." 

"Huh. Noted." There are more surprising things, Sal supposes. "We've got tea and coffee, too." In the last few years, he'd started drinking coffee in the morning. It makes being awake much easier, particularly on days when he doesn’t really have the energy to get out of bed. At first he'd liked mostly cream and sugar with a splash of coffee, but he'd grown to like the bitter taste of it when it was pure black. He wonders if losing his sweet tooth is a part of growing up. 

Thinking of sweet things makes him think of something. "The guy who owns this place, Mr. Addison, wanted to own his own tea house. He never got around to it, but he still has his own brand of tea that he sells. You want to try some?" Sal still doesn't really care for the stuff, but he thinks he's on the track to doing so. 

"Sure! That actually sounds good." 

It's only slightly warmer in the lobby than it is outside. Sal suspects that this is one of the few floors that isn't haunted. He knocks on Mr. Addison's door; he sees Travis start as the mail slot opens out of the corner of his left eye. He can understand; not everyone is prepared for that when they come here.

"Hello, Sal. Did you and the other boys have a good day at school?" 

Sal thinks about how to answer that question, but Travis does it for him. "Yeah, we did." 

"Oh! I haven't seen you here before." Travis has been here a few times now, but Sal supposes that it makes sense that this is the first time Mr. Addison would have seen him. "What's your name?"

"This is Travis; he's gonna be staying with me for a while." Sal looks at Travis's face, but the expression he wears on it is unreadable. He continues. "Addison Tea, please and thank you," he adds, sliding a quarter through the mail slot. He knows it’s fifty cents for non-residents, but Travis is technically living with him. He thinks Mr. Addison will understand.

"Coming right up!" The mail slot closes for a few minutes, opening up just enough to slide the steaming mug through. "Thank you!"

"Any time, Sir," says Sal. "I still think you're undercharging."

The boys hear a kind laugh before the man leaves the mail slot. At least, Sal _assumes_ he's left; the mail slot is closed now. 

"Is he always like that?" asks Travis.

Sal shrugs. "You sort of get used to it after a while," he tells him. He hands the tiny mug to his friend. "Here; I don't really like unsweetened tea yet, but maybe you will." 

Travis takes a sip from the mug and smiles. "That's pretty good,” he says.

"I’m glad you like it.” Sal presses the up button on the elevator. "It's weird...I've lived in this building for over two years now, and I still don't know what Mr. Addison looks like."

"That's weird," says Travis. " _He_ seems weird, too." 

Sal's pretty sure Travis doesn't mean anything offensive by that. "I can see why you'd think that, but trust me; he's not the strangest person living here." 

Travis scoffs. "Yeah, true; I passed a guy in his underwear on the ride up here once." 

"Oh, that was probably David. He's strange, too, but harmless." 

"I'll take your word for it." The elevator dings as they reach level 4. "So you know everyone here? They all seem to know _you,"_ says Travis as they head for their apartment.

Sal pauses for a moment, thinking carefully. "Not everyone," he admits. He's happy to know that he doesn't personally know the red-eyed demon that haunts this place. He doesn't really know Megan's mother that well. And the more he talked to Miss Rosenberg, the less he felt he knew her. 

And of course, there are people here who he'd thought he'd known, but really didn't. "Mrs. Packerton used to live here, you know."

"No shit?"

"No; she lived on Todd's floor. I didn't find out until the day she died." 

"That must've been surreal," says Travis. They're both quiet as Sal unlocks their door and opens it, letting them both inside. "I miss Mrs. Packerton." Travis says that so quietly, Sal almost doesn't hear it. 

He thinks for a bit before he finally says "Yeah. Me, too." It's not technically a lie; Sal misses the person he _thought_ his old math teacher was. Maybe if he and his friends hadn't been so curious about that bologna, they would've been mourning her death right alongside everyone else. 

Sometimes he wonders if he's in too deep; what would happen if he weren't so curious about everything surrounding him? What if he just _stops?_ What if he just leaves well enough alone? He still doesn't know the full scope of whatever danger he and his friends might be in. 

But then Gizmo rubs up against Travis's legs, and Sal can't bring himself down that negative line of thought any longer.

\---

Sal does whatever he can to make Travis feel at home, but he isn't sure just how effective it is. Travis still seems to be on edge, hyper aware of everything that's going on around him. 

Sal doesn't blame him; he's experienced trauma in his life before. He _knows_ it doesn't go away overnight. Two nights, in this particular case.

Still, he finds it hard to ignore when Travis keeps looking at the Fishers' phone every two minutes or so. 

"Everything okay, Travis?" he finally asks after he sees him doing it for the millionth time. 

"What?" Travis turns his head back to him. "Yeah, I'm fine." 

Sal doesn't believe him. "You sure? You seem distracted." He thinks he might have an idea of why his friend keeps turning his attention to his phone, but he doesn't want to jump to conclusions. "Do you want to call someone? Because you can, if you want." 

"No," says Travis. "Yes," he corrects. He sighs and buries his face in his hands. "Fuck, I don't know." 

Sal waits patiently. 

Travis takes a deep breath. "I think I should call my mom."

There it is. "Okay," says Sal. 

"It's not that easy," Travis says quietly. "I haven't talked to her in months. We were on okay terms, last time we talked, but that was different..."

"How?" Sal gently asks. 

"It just _is,_ okay?" spits Travis. A tense silence falls on the two boys before Travis sheepishly says "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have snapped at you." He sighs and tucks his blond bangs behind his ear. Sal almost finds himself wanting to do that, himself. "I don't know the last time she's talked to Dad; I have no idea if she even knows where I am. It's only fair if I tell her, right?"

Sal suspects that that's not all they'll talk about, if Travis _does_ decide to call his mother. There'll most likely be discussions of Travis's current living situation; if Sal knows anything about mothers, then he's sure she'll want him to come live with her. That might mean that she'll want full custody of him, and there'll be so many legal issues, possibly time in court...

It's an entire can of worms to open up. Sal supposes he can't blame Travis for being stressed for those possibilities. Besides, he kind of likes having Travis here, and he'd like to think that Travis likes being here, too.

Still, Sal has his two cents to give. "I see why you're stressing out; I do. But, well..." He sighs, realizing how underhanded what he's about to say really is. "I'm gonna have to play the 'My Mom is Dead' card here."

Travis gapes at him. "Fuck you," he says, completely lacking anger. "That's not fair."

Sal shrugs. "No, it's not; life, generally, isn't. But there it is." He puts a hand on Travis's shoulder. "I won’t tell you what to do; you're your own person, and you need to make your own decisions. But if _I_ had the opportunity to talk to my mom just one more time, you can bet that I'd take it." 

Travis stares at him, then at his hands, for what feels like five minutes. Finally he stands up and takes the phone off the receiver, pounding a number into the keypad. Sal leaves for his bedroom when he hears him say "Hi, Mom." 

He'll gladly give them their privacy.

\---

Travis winds up talking to his mother for a whole hour. Sal wonders if his father will be angry about the phone bill, but decides that he doesn't care. 

This seems worth it. 

Sal passes the time by tuning his guitar. He only looks up from it when he hears his door open. 

He doesn't say anything about the fact that Travis's eyes are red-rimmed. "What's the word?" he gently asks. 

"We talked a lot," says Travis. "There was a lot about nothing; how school's going for me and shit like that." 

Sal nods, waiting with baited breath. 

"I...told her about what happened with Dad. She's coming to pick me up tomorrow." 

"Oh." Sal doesn't really know what else he expected, but something icy cold seems to be creeping up his spine, just the same. "Do you know what time?"

"I think, like...noon-ish? I told her your address." Travis sits down next to him, almost close enough to touch, but not quite. "I think she's gonna talk to Dad first. Get the rest of my stuff, maybe even my dog." He laughs a little; there's no humor in it. "Hell, maybe she'll give 'im an earful." He frowns before looking down at his knees. "Then again, I hope she doesn't...If she ever thought of doing that in the past, then he'd..." 

Sal has to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything he'll regret; he only has to look at Travis's bruises to have an idea of what would happen. No _wonder_ she'd left him...

Had Mr. Phelps started beating his son after that? 

Travis shakes his head. "Anyway...she lives really far away. I'll have to switch schools. You know, unless I want to talk an hour-long commute to and from Nockfell High."

Sal nods. "I see." He waits for Travis to talk some more, secretly hoping for him to open up and talk about how he really feels about this. How he really feels about _him._

Instead, he asks "What songs do you know on that thing?" and points at Sal's guitar. 

Maybe Sal is a little disappointed, but he complies, starting off with a few chords he's memorized by heart. 

They don't wind up talking about it for the rest of the day.

\---

Sunday morning finds the boys sitting on the front lawn of Addison Apartments. Travis's legs are folded underneath him and Sal's are crossed like a pretzel; both of Travis's bags are to his right.

"You'll call me, right?" Sal asks, absently picking at a loose thread in one of the holes in his worn jeans. 

"Yeah, of course. If _you'll_ call _me,"_ says Travis. He'd given Sal his mother's phone number earlier that morning, and Sal has decided that he's going to do his best to memorize it. 

"You should know," says Sal, "even if it wasn't for very long, I liked having you here." He hugs his knees to his chest. "Even if the reason _why_ really sucks. I'm gonna miss you." He quickly adds "So's Gizmo." He chuckles. "I've never seen him warm up to anyone as fast as he's warmed up to you; he doesn't even like Larry or Ash that much."

Travis opens his mouth, looking like he's going to say something, but closes it. Instead, he scoots closer to Sal until he's close enough to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Sal smiles behind his prosthetic and leans his head against Travis's shoulder.

They stay like that until a rusty Camaro pulls up in front of them. It's technically in a no-parking zone, but Sal suspects that it'll only be there for a short time while this all plays out.

A curvy, tall woman climbs out of the drivers' seat. Her dark brown hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail and her hazel green eyes are full of concern. Her skin is just a tad bit darker than Travis's, Sal notices.

He can tell just from a glance. This woman is where Travis gets all the compassion and kindness that Sal _knows_ he has.

"Travis?" she breathes.

Travis stands up. Sal realizes that he's grown taller than his mother. He sees him give her a weak smile. "Hey, Mom."

That's all it takes. He sees her eyes fill with tears as she gathers his son up in her arms. Sal scrambles to his feet and turns away. 

The embrace lasts for minutes; Sal can tell that there are a lot of unspoken words and emotions between the two of them. For now, though, when they reluctantly let go, Travis's mom steps towards him. "You're Sal Fisher, right?" she asks.

Sal nods. "Yes, Ma'am. Travis has told me all about you; it's nice to meet you." He holds a hand out, indicating that he'd like to shake her hand.

She stares at it for a moment before ignoring it and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He's shorter than her, he realizes; it's not much of a surprise. He's shorter than most people. 

"Thank you for taking care of my boy," she whispers. Sal nods and returns the hug.

"Of course; he's my friend," he tells her. "He's important to me." He looks over the woman's shoulder at Travis as he says this. Travis looks to the side and scratches the back of his neck in a way that makes him look sweetly bashful.

Travis's mother pulls away from him and gives him a teary smile. "He's lucky to have a friend like you," she says, putting a hand on the left cheek of his prosthetic. Her words are full of meaning; Sal wants to tell her so much, but he knows they don't have the time. 

Sal helps Travis load his things into the back seat of his mother's car. Travis had been right; boxes of Travis's belongings are crowding up the trunk, so the back seat is what will have to do. Sal smiles at the sight of the Jack Russell Terrier in the front seat; the little creature’s tail wags excitably at the sight of the two boys.

After they close the door to the car, they stand there for a moment. Travis's mom has gotten into the driver's seat of the car, so it's just the two of them.

Travis puts a hand on Sal's shoulder. "Sal, I..." he starts, then trails off. Sal doesn't blame him; he suspects that he has a lot of words for him. 

 _Is this going to be it?_ Sal wonders. _Is he finally going to tell me?_

Travis bites his lip, looking a bit lost. Then he pulls Sal into his arms, squeezing him around the waist. "Thank you, Sal," he whispers. "For everything."

 _That's enough,_ Sal thinks. _That's more than enough._ He buries his face in Travis's shoulder. "Don't mention it," he murmurs. 

He watches the car until it disappears around the corner.

\---

He finds no more love letters in his locker for the rest of high school.


End file.
